


Vehemence & Liquor

by removed



Category: No Fandom, Original Work, nonfandom
Genre: 1st person, Child Loss, Demon, Demons, Familial loss, Freeform, Freewriting, Metaphorical, Metaphors, Other, Poetry, creative writing, half demon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/removed/pseuds/removed
Summary: A compilation of stories I've created that don't particularly fall to one fandom or another. Most are to be taken metaphorically into your own personal interpretation.





	1. snow angel

my hair is as white as snow. my flesh is as white as snow. my flesh is living snow, as though it never been touched. i have never been in snow or in the wind.

i eat without hunger, even though the earth is black, or cold, or scorching, yet i am not cold. i can walk on the cold mountain slopes. i have the coldest breath of all living things, for i am pure snow, white as snow. i have neither body nor body part to see, but only a soul. i am a spirit in a body. 

therefore i do not thirst for water, nor i taste it, nor smell it, nor feel cold. 

the earth is my womb

the only living spirit is the sun, the moon, the stars; they are the only living beings. they are the only living things. all living things are bodies.

when i am dead, when i am no more, i shall be in the clouds. i shall see the earth of the earth, all the plants and trees in the earth, in the sun, and all the stars.

i see the stars. my home. my birth and my mother and my mother and my mother and my mother and my mother and my mother and my mother and my mother and my mother and my mother 

isn't this what i had wanted for so long?

i was the first to see God. a baby boy, a baby girl.

i pried the clouds open and the trees parted to a sky of red 

a young mother, a mother in pain.

a mother who lost her child.

an angel in a world of grief.

a mother struggling with a world of pain.

a mother struggling with pain.

an angel in a world of sadness.

a mother crying for her child.

a mother whose child is no longer, her sole comfort.

my mother.


	2. The 10 Year Old Named Raptor

My tongue was made of crow feathers, my brain made of whale teeth and my feet were made of turtle shells. 

I had a name, I always responded to "Raptor" because — for me — it was a special nickname given to me by my doctor, June.

He knew I liked dinosaurs and that I liked to be silly. He knew that I never liked my real name, given to me by my father, and I would rather be a big dinosaur living in the tropics with macaws at my side. He knew that I knew that I looked like one. 

He was not like the doctors and nurses that were afraid of me. The other doctors and nurses wanted to have me euthanized for my own safety — but I really think they wanted me out of their sight.

I was ugly and I molted like a snake, my joints would never move right and sometimes my brain would audibly tick against itself, like a clock was stuck in my brainstem. One nurse thought I had contraband, and refused to go in my room until they checked me. 

They did, and they found nothing outside of what was "normal" for me, which was shed skin and broken talons. 

Dr. June always kept me calm and in check, and never complained when I got fussy. He never complained when I begged to walk every day and cried the moment my claws hit the floor. He never said anything really nasty and was always very, very sweet to me. 

I used to have a real home at some point. I looked fully human, small and fragile with thick arms that grabbed at a tottling canid form. We had a family dachshund, named Maxie. 

After my tongue began to flutter and my brain made a cuckoo noise, Maxie became sick and my mom took her to the veterinarian. The vet told her that Maxie had some type of cancer. We didn't know if it was because of me or not, but I always acknowledged the accusing stares. 

Dr. June never looked at me like that. The other nurses and doctors looked at me with fright, or even with pity. My mother looked at me like I was constantly growing heads on my neck, and maybe I was. 

He treated me like a real person. He gave me sympathy and did not talk to me like I was a baby. He acknowledged that I could not talk well, but he was the only one that acknowledged that my brain was faster than my mouth. Maybe it was the way my hawk-like eyes looked at him, or maybe he's seen others like me. 

Unfortunately, for Dr. June, nothing happy comes from the child of a demon father and a human mother.


End file.
